


Shoulder Holster

by surfgirl (verushka70)



Series: Unholstered [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Drama, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-01
Updated: 1999-09-01
Packaged: 2018-11-11 05:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/surfgirl
Summary: This was written for a challenge by Te on Serge: "Write a story about The Night Before Asylum. Who was Ray with? What did they do?"





	Shoulder Holster

**Author's Note:**

> This story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). It has not been changed (nor will it be) on import to the AO3, except to more appropriately or descriptively tag, and to fix broken web links. Ever so grateful to [Open Doors](http://opendoors.transformativeworks.org/) and to [Speranza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza), for making the archive import to AO3 happen. TYK!

He's so fucking gorgeous even _I_ can't believe I landed him. And I'm sure he's thinking of someone else when he's with me. In fact I know it. Which is fine. As long as he keeps doing me like he does, I don't give a shit _what_ he's thinking. 

It's someone he's got a thing for, though, I can tell that much. Someone he's got a thing for and can't have. So he's got me. And I got him. And we fit. 

~~~ 

I remember when we first met. I just knew he was a cop -- but then I've got a sixth sense. I always dug that as a fantasy. 'Course, he wasn't in uniform. I thought he was just a narc. I didn't know at first that he was a detective. I gotta say, I was pretty impressed with that -- and then, I was pretty impressed with myself for landing him. But not because he was a detective.

I'm waiting for the bus at Lawrence and Broadway -- back before Uptown became "Sheridan Park", before all the development, when that intersection was second-scummiest only to Broadway and Wilson. This dude's standing there, spiky wheaten colored hair, leather blazer, dark shades. Something just whispered "cop" to me, even though he didn't look like one. He kept looking at his watch. I kept wondering what the hell someone like him was doing taking a bus. He might have been dressed down, but he wasn't dressed cheaply. 

I could tell he was lean under the clothes. It was, for once, a nice fall day -- the days before you get the three straight weeks of rain in October. Indian summer. A nice breeze, maybe in the upper 60s -- it's always cooler the closer you get to the lakefront. 

Anyways, I'm sitting on this bench, he's standing behind it. It seems like we're both waiting for the bus. The Broadway bus stops, and lets people off, but neither of us get on. I shoulda gotten on -- I was supposed to meet my sister for lunch in forty-five minutes. But since he didn't get on, I thought, "Hm, maybe... ya never know." I figured, either he's checkin' me out, or he's waiting for the Lawrence Avenue bus. 

So I stand up from the bus bench and walk over to one of the newspaper machines, squat down and look at the headline. (I also checked out my hair in the storefront window I hadda pass, just to make sure it's okay. Well, there's not much you can do with brush straight dark brown hair, but keep it kinda short). He watches me squat -- I can see from his reflection in the little glass window of the newspaper machine. I pretend to read a headline and the first couple paragraphs. Just, you know, killing time. 

'Course, I don't wear my jeans too loose -- not like this guy \-- and I'm wearing a light, short jacket. So I know my jeans are tightened up across my ass as I squat there. Watching him watch me in the little window the newspapers are all behind. 

I give him a few minutes of my show. Then I stand up and go stand back by the bus bench, but I don't sit down. I can see him outta the corner of my eye. He's chompin' on a toothpick. He hasn't looked at his watch since I squatted down to read the paper. 

Then, the funniest thing happens. This big huge Lincoln Town Car pulls up, black as sin and tinted windows. We're just standin' there, and this car pulls right into the bus stop zone. Before either of us can react, the passenger window rolls down. We both look at each other, but before either one of us can look in the window or react, the door of the liquor store opens and this slim, fey blond dude who practically has the word "hustler" tattooed across his forehead comes out. 

He walks over the car; we can hear him muttering something to whoever's inside. They go back and forth a couple minutes. Then finally we hear the power locks go and he opens the passenger door and gets in. He slams the door and the power window slides up as the Lincoln pulls away from the curb. 

So me and this black jacketed, dark-shades-wearing wheat blond dude look at each other. I smile my wickedest smile and say nothing. He looks away grinning, and then looks back. He shrugs. 

"It's so nice to know a young man can still make a decent living in this city," he says, his voice kinda nasally sweet. His smile fades a bit, but he's still kinda grinning. 

"It's the entrepreneurial spirit," I answer back, and shrug. "Gotta make a living somehow, right?" 

"I guess," he says slowly, and hesitates. Even with his shades on, I can see the wheels turning. He clears his throat. "You're, uh, not an entrepreneur, are you?" 

I go, "Nah. I wouldn't want to do anything I really enjoyed for a _living_ , you know, day in and day out. There's nothing like _having_ to do something for a living, all day, every day, to take all the _enjoyment_ out of it. I'd rather do it in my spare time because I _love_ to do it." I try to make my voice silky. "Not because I _have_ to do it. Y'know?" 

He's not smiling anymore, but he's chewin' that toothpick even more. I smile and shrug casually and look away. 

When I look back, he's right next to me and he's got a business card out. He's scribbling on it with a pen he pulls out of his inside pocket. When he's done, he tucks the pen away but hands me the card. 

Detective Ray Vecchio, it says, 27th precinct Chicago Police Department. But I look at him and he doesn't look too threatening. In fact, he's lookin' kinda tightly strung, all of a sudden. 

"I think," he begins slowly, "that we may have just witnessed a crime." 

"Oh, yeah?" I answer slowly, moving closer. "You think that's what it was?" 

He pauses, letting me invade his space. Then, "Yeah, it could be," he responds. "And, uh, you were the only other witness besides me." 

I smile. "Yeah, I guess I was." 

"Since that might have been a crime... I might need to _talk_ to you _later_ about what we _saw_. You know? I might have to, uh, investigate." Now he's lookin' a bit nervous but he's still playing the tough cop. 

"Oh," I purr, "of course, Detective. I'd be more than happy to _talk_ to you _later_ and help you with your _investigation_." 

"Really?" he says, and then looks away, as if he's checking to see if anyone is paying attention to us. But no, we got the same usual tired bored people waiting for the bus across the street, cars and buses crawling through the intersection, homeless guy with a shopping cart fulla cans and scrap metal in the street. 

"Yeah, _really_." I answer seriously. 

"That'd be, that'd be great," he says and smiles again, a kinda tentative smile. "What time, uh, what time later would you be able to, uh, discuss the case?" 

"Oh, anytime after four thirty, five o'clock," I say airily, and back off and turn away. Like we're not having any particular conversation. Like we're not discussing when he can meet me later so I can suck his cock. 

"I, uh, I won't be off work until six or seven. Is there some way I can, uh, contact you?" 

I smile. "I don't have any business cards on me. Or a pen," I say, and shrug. Like, Oh, too bad. 

"I do," he says immediately, whipping out a card and his pen again from his inside jacket pocket. 

"It's ...Dave," I say, and then for a nanosecond, I think, Do I really wanna give my phone number to some guy I just met? Oh, who am I kidding... of _course_ I do. "It's 555-0477," I tell him. 

For seeming like he's pretty new at this, he looks pretty pleased, too. 

"Great," he says, writing it down and tucking pen and card back into his pocket. "I'm, uh... looking forward to it." 

"Me, too," I say. I can see the bus comin', chugging slowly down Broadway, stuck behind a mess o' cars. 

"Those, uh... those are pretty nice jeans," he tells me. He's looking around again, getting paranoid, but he seems to mean what he says. 

"Oh, thanks. The Gap. At Lincoln, Belmont and Ashland," I helpfully supply him with information he didn't want or need. I can't stop smiling. 

"I like, uh, the back pockets," he says, smiling almost bashfully. 

"Do you now?" I ask. Just checking. Just trying to be sure. 

"Oh, yeah. They're ...very nice." 

"Well, thank you," I say. My bus is almost there. "My bus is coming." 

"After six or seven," he says, stepping forward. He takes off his sunglasses, and we look at each other. He's got blue eyes, like I do, but lighter. They look good in his face. Taking off the shades lets me see the angles of his cheekbones, his jaw. Somehow it's not rough or hard edged, even though they're very angular. 

"Yeah, I should be around," I say, nodding, smiling. 

The bus wheezes to a stop in front of the bench. He steps back, nervously smiling, and I just nod and turn and get on the bus. I go all the way to the back even though it's hot in the back. But this way I can watch him as the bus pulls away. And I do. 

And he watches after me until we can't see each other anymore. 

~~~ 

Lunch with Charlotte was okay; after the Thai food, she just wanted to hit a bunch of funky resale boutiques on Belmont. I hadn't seen her in a while. 

But the whole time I'm thinking of that dark blonde detective and thinking what it seemed like he wanted to do to me... and what I'd love for him to do to me... what's under his pants... Sounds like an ass man and that suits me perfect. I just figured we'd blow each other. Until he made that remark about my jeans, the back pockets. So that made me think, he's looking for some ass... literally. Well, that suits me just fine. Although he sure doesn't seem too experienced at it... 

I get home around five thirty. I've got my miniature basketball and the hoop's set up on my closet door. I can't stop bouncing it around the house. Then I think, Hm, maybe I should take a shower. I realize it's like five thirty five and I better hop to if I'm gonna do it. I definitely don't want him to get the answering machine. I'll shave in the shower. 

I'm still wet and wearing a towel when the phone rings, but at least the city's grime is washed off me -- 'til I go outside again! 

I swipe my ears with the hand towel in the bathroom and run with my wet feet across the dining room to the phone. 

"Is Dave there?" comes that voice, kinda flat, kinda sweet. 

"It's me," I say, still holding the hand towel. I wipe my neck and shoulders. I guess I'm pretty okay looking. I should lift weights more, but I've been slacking off lately. I can't complain, though -- stomach's still relatively flat; arms still pretty okay. 

And I'm wondering what he looks like under his clothes. 

"So, uh, we can talk about my investigation down here, by my house... or by your house, I guess." 

"Well, Ray," I tell him, "I don't have a car. It's the green limousine for me. So... if you wanna wait an hour or so for me to get where you are -- which is where, by the way? \-- that's fine with me. On the other hand..." 

"Oh, no, it's okay. I can come up by you. You live in that neighborhood?" 

"Yep. On Beacon. Lawrence and Beacon, four houses from Lawrence. 4747 North Beacon." 

"I know where dat is. I'm there." 

"Great. How long?" 

"That's kind of a personal question, doncha think?" he jokes, trying to soothe his nerves. 

"Funny," I say, smiling. "A joker. Good, I like that. No, seriously. Think you'll be here soon? I just got outta the shower." 

"Oh, nah, probably at least half an hour, forty-five minutes." 

"Great. We'll, uh, 'talk' soon." 

"Right," he agrees. We hang up. 

So now, what to wear, what to wear? I'm not gonna dress _up_ \-- no point, since the clothes are coming right off. But I wanna look good... look fuckable. I think I'll take that darker pair of jeans and one of my cotton short sleeve button downs -- not the oxford-like one, but the one like a mechanic's uniform shirt. Just for good measure I roll up the sleeves like some greaser. Oh, yeah. And these jeans... should show off my ass. 

Now, my ass I was blessed with and lots of guys have wanted it and lots of guys have had it. This chick I went to high school with, before I quite figured out my main purpose in life was sucking cock, used to say I had "coffee bean buns" like male ballet dancers. 'Course, at the time, I wanted to kill her for comparing me to a ballet dancer. But in hindsight, that was a pretty good description. 

And all I really gotta do is jog by the lake on occasion, maybe do some leg presses and hamstring curls at the health club... and I maintain my genetic blessing. Some of my friends say I better chill out with the chips and dip or I'm gonna lose my nice ass, but... I think they're wrong... I think it'll settle around my middle. 

Well, after shave, I figure... got this weird shit Charlotte bought me for Christmas several years ago. A little of this goes a long way, but whenever I wear it the straight chicks at work go nuts, and the mouthed offers of blowjobs on the bus go through the roof. It's by Chanel. Antaeus, it's called. It's a bit heavy \-- one reason I don't use it much -- but, like I say, a little goes a long way. So I'm being pretty sparing with it. 

By the time I'm dressed and groomed, only 20 minutes have gone by. I'm bored now... that edgy "I'm about to get fucked" feeling, where you can't wait for it, so doing anything else just kind of naturally bores or irritates you. So... okay, I put on a record. I know it's passe to still own vinyl but I can't fucking afford to replace all my records with CDs just yet. 

What do I put on? Cheap Trick. Almost, not quite, home town boys ...from Rockford, not from Chicago. But that doesn't matter. It's Heaven Tonight. Surrender, then one of my faves, On Top Of The World, then California Man (another good one ... "my legs start to shiver when I hear you call my name"... oh, yeah, though it has a completely different meaning to me now than it did when I was in high school!). 

So I'm living in the past a little, so what. I always dug those guys. Took me a while to figure out that I didn't really just dig them, I wanted to _do_ them -- well, Robin Zander anyway. 

The doorbell rings, of course. Right in the middle of High Roller. I turn down my cheap stereo and press the intercom. 

"Who is it?" 

"Uh, Detective K- Vecchio." 

"Come on up." I buzz him up. 

I've got some beer in the fridge. Hope he's not hungry cuz there ain't nothin' else in the house -- 'cept my dick. Which is fine... but if he's _really_ hungry, we'll have to order a pizza. 

I go to the front door. He's there already, and looking even more edible than earlier. He's got these form fitting black twill pants on, some kind of funky retro bowling shirt in gray with a yellow pattern -- and that black leather sport jacket. The hair is even spikier, if that's possible. Damn. Wish I could get _my_ hair to do that... but I'm not willing to fuck around with it that much. 

"You got up here fast," I comment, taking in his even more fuckable good looks. Without the shades, though, there's something softer and younger about his face. He must not be as old as I thought, or at least not that much older than me. 

"Well, come on in... shut the door behind ya, will ya?" I add, and move my tight little ass down the hall in front of him for his benefit. 

He doesn't miss a trick, either. He's right behind me the whole way to the kitchen. It's a long apartment, the hall running down most of the side from the living room, past the bedroom, bathroom, dining room, and into the kitchen. 

I go to the fridge. "Miller Genuine Draft, or... Miller Genuine Draft," I ask him, smiling. 

He chuckles, "I guess I'll take a Miller." 

"Good choice." 

I get out two beers, twist 'em both open, and pass him one. He leans back against the sink and takes a long sip. 

"Long day?" I ask. 

"You bet." 

"You wanna 'talk'?" 

He swallows another swig of beer, eyeing me. Under the fluorescent light from the kitchen, his eyes are really blue, and really light. 

"Sure," he says, more easily. 

"Whaddaya wanna do?" 

"Um, well, uh..." 

"You ever done this before?" I ask him. 

Now he blushes. "Sure," he says. Bravado. He's never done this before. But that is okay, that is superfine, because I have and I know what we're gonna do, if he doesn't cough up an opinion or a wish list. 

"Right. Well, I'm not into any of that golden showers or anything else," I tell him. "I just like to suck cock and get sucked. And... get fucked." 

His eyes get big, and he hesitates and says, "Well, uh, never sucked cock but not cuz I didn't want to, y'know?" Smiles, a bit nervously. "But I ...I can fuck you." 

"You think you can fuck me?" 

"Sure." 

"Great," I say, "because that is exactly what I've been wanting for several weeks and all I get offered lately is blowjobs." 

"Oh. Well..." 

"You ever done _that_ before?" 

"Only with chicks. With my wife." 

"Your _wife_?" Shit. 

"Uh, _ex-wife_ ," he adds quickly. "Ex. We've been... it's been a couple years we been divorced." 

That's a relief. Even if he is lying. I get a little closer to him. 

"Did she like it, Ray?" 

"Like what?" 

"Getting fucked in the ass." With each sentence, I'm farther and farther into his space, and he can't go anywhere because he's up against the sink. He's taller than me, but I'm more built than him. I'd say we're pretty evenly matched. 

"Uh, well, not quite... she got into it maybe twice... I think she got into it, but she was afraid of likin' it too much," he says, his voice going down wistfully. 

Oh, man. No, no, no, no, no. No reminiscing. No ex stories. Don't wanna hear it. Your dick, my mouth, your dick, my ass. None of this ex this and ex-wives or any of that shit. 

"Well, she ain't never got into it like I will," I tell him, and then I just press against him and let him feel how fucking hard I already am. He's a hardening, but not really hard yet. 

"Wow," he says, kind of surprised, but apparently pleasantly. 

"Yeah, wow," I say. "And that could be in your mouth, if you were down on your knees, but you're not, so..." I lean in closer and tilt my head to kiss him. I can't quite devour his mouth, since he's taller, but after our lips meet, I'm all over his mouth, I'm sucking his lips, his tongue, I'm letting him know what I can do with my mouth... and what I want done. 

Without looking, he sets his beer on the counter and slips his hands over my ass. Real tentative like, until I grab his hardening cock through his pants and start squeezing and stroking it. He hardens up fuckin' pronto. Like that Beavis and Butthead episode... "Booooiiiiiiinnnnnnggg." I chuckle to myself about that. 

"What's funny," he asks, breaking the kiss. 

"Nothing. A thought. Ever see that Beavis and Butthead episode where they're claiming they're being sexually harassed by some chick?" 

"I dunno... I haven't seen that many." 

"Well, when Beavis gets his 'stiffy', he goes, 'You know... Booooiiiiinnnnggggg'." 

"Oh, yeah," Detective Ray says, "I remember that one." 

"Well, that's what you just did." 

"Did I?" 

"Yep." 

"Well..." 

"It's a good thing. Trust me," I say. And with that, I put my beer down on the sink and slide my hands up his chest. He's lean, all right, but then I feel the leather straps of his shoulder holster under his bowling shirt. Must be wearing the holster over the T-shirt, under the bowling shirt. 

"Oh, shit. I gotta get outta this crap." 

"Let's go somewhere more comfortable." 

"Such as?" 

"My room... just off the living room." 

We go back in the living room and Cheap Trick is still playing. He notices it now. 

"Hey, this is Heaven Tonight!" 

"Yeah," I say, a bit sheepish. "I'm reliving my Kiss records and Cheap Trick youth." 

"Always loved these guys. Can you crank it?" 

"Sure." 

"Can you start it over? Oh, man, you've got _vinyl_ here." 

"Hey, man, I don't make shitloads of money in bribes for my CD collection," I tease him. "I'm just a law-abiding citizen." 

"I don't take bribes," he says, seriously. 

Somehow I believe him, but I wave that off. "It's a joke. I'll start the record over." 

"Can you set it to repeat?" 

"Uh, shit, this is one of those newer turntables, I dunno..." 

"Here," he says, taking a look at it. "You haveta select this thing here, and then it'll repeat." 

"An audiophile, too," I say. "Is there anything you don't do, Detective Ray?" 

"Um... Can't speak anything but English," he says, smiling that smile again. It makes his fuckability go up another five notches, that smile. 

"Well, that's fine, then. So it's gonna repeat now," I ask. 

"Yep," he says. 

"Good. Get in the bedroom," I tell him. But I'm smiling. 

He raises an eyebrow at my command, then says, "All right... let's just get one thing straight here..." 

"Yeah, what's that," I say, following him in. He seems a bit on edge, like he's being hypervigilant to the fact that I'm behind him. 

"I do carry a weapon, and I do gotta remove it." 

"Oh, you can remove it, all right. That's not the weapon I want, anyway," I tell him, turning him around for another hot, wet kiss. "You just do it nice and slow, one thing at a time." I gesture at the night table next to the bed. "You can put it all there." 

He slips his hands around my hips to my ass again, one cheek in each hand. Our kiss is deeper this time. 

"Man, your ass..." he just trails off, kissing me hungrily again. The spikes of his blond hair quiver in the warm light from the wall fixtures in the bedroom. Old buildings... well, at least they're good for atmosphere... and you can't hear the people next door, above, or below fucking or blastin' their music. 

"Yeah, my ass," I breathe into his cheek after we pull our mouths apart. "It's yours but you gotta get out of some of that clothing. Let me help." I start sliding his jacket off his shoulders. 

He shrugs out of it, sidles out of my grasp, and hangs it over the door knob of the closet. Then, he goes to stand next to the night stand. 

I walk over, undoing the top button of my button-down, short-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up like a greaser. 

He tugs me over to him by my waistband. Oh, this boy wants it bad, I can tell. He unbuttons all my buttons, and pulls the shirt tails outta my pants in this real slow sexy way. I can feel 'em all along my cock, because my cock is in my underwear, and between my underwear and my kinda snug jeans are the shirt tails. 

"Mmmmmm," I say. "Nice and easy." 

"I don't, uh, like to go so fast, Dave," he says. Sounds like a loaded statement, though. Well, okay, fine... I know this dude's never done this before, though he's probably wanted to for a really, really long time. 

"It's okay, Detective Ray," I say. Now that my shirt is off, and I'm not wearing a T-shirt... he can see my chest and arms. 

"Nice," he breathes, sliding his hands over my chest. 

"Nicer," I say, lifting the bottom edge of his retro bowling shirt. 

"Oh," he says, and then draws his own shirt up over his head. 

Don't ask me why but that shoulder holster thing gets me. I don't know if it's the leather -- I'm not even into that scene -- or the gun, or the fact that it pulls his shoulders back and tautens his chest. But I am _so_ digging this. 

He drops his shirt on the floor, eyeing me again, and starts to unbuckle the holster. The tension of the buckle relieved, he slips it slowly off one shoulder, then the other. Before it slips completely off, he pulls the shiny, black automatic pistol out of the holster and checks the safety. It's on. He sets it carefully on the night stand, and then takes the holster off and puts that on the night stand. 

"Oh, wait," he says, like he's just remembered something. 

He turns around, and puts his foot up on the night stand. Before I can complain that I like my night stand not to have footprints on it, he's pulling up the leg of his pants and pulling out a small gun from an ankle holster. 

And the way he's got one foot up on the night stand perfectly shows off his slim ass... though he's completely unaware of it. 

I can't help myself... I step up behind him and put my hand between those legs, the one supporting his lean frame, the other up on the night stand. It's like he's spreading his ass just for me or something. I reach between his legs and stroke his balls. 

"Heyyyyyy," he purrs, looking over his shoulder at me for a minute. 

"Like that?" I whisper. 

"Yeah..." 

"There's more where that came from..." 

"Mmmmm." 

"You takin' off that ankle thing too?" 

"Yeah, I better." 

"Okay," I say, backing up. I undo the top button of my jeans, but I'm gonna wait for him to turn around and do the zipper. 

He unbuckles _that_ too, and that's when I first notice that he's got _cuffs_ , too. Dunno how I missed those -- looking at his ass, I guess. He puts the ankle holster and little gun on the night stand and unhooks the cuffs from the back right of his belt. 

He's still got his foot up on the night stand... like he _wants_ me to feel his ass. 

I oblige him and he shoves it harder into my hands. 

"You ever done this, sport?" I ask him, quiet and neutral. 

"Nah," he says, but his voice has just a little tremor. 

"You want to?" I ask him. 

"Maybe..." 

"Okay, we'll see about that," I whisper. He don't have to do all this in one night. Far as I'm concerned, he can come over here every night for the rest of the year and do whatever the fuck he pleases with me. He's obviously not a psycho, he's obviously just a regular guy, just starting out... pretty nice. And fucking gorgeous. 

He finally puts his foot down on the floor again, and turns back to me. Now those pupils are wide and dark and he's looking more than a little excited. And by the size of that bulge in his pants, he's just about perfectly my size. 

"I'm gonna do stuff to you, and then you do it to me, okay?" I say to him, looking him in the eye. "Unless it's somethin' you really don't wanna do, but you just gotta let me know that." 

He just nods, a bit nervous. I reach across the short distance between us and pull him to me by his waistband. I unbuckle his belt. 

"You don't got a belt," he says, smiling. 

"You can do the next bit," I say, undoing the button of his pants and unzipping the fly. 

He reaches around my hands on him, and unzips my fly. 

I push his pants down to the tops of his thighs. 

He pushes mine down to the tops of my thighs. 

I pull his sensible cotton briefs down and his cock springs out. It's kinda thick at the bottom, but it tapers nicely toward the head. 

Perfect for ass fucking. 

Now _my_ knees are starting to shake. 

I step back, and he hesitates. Then he pulls down my silver stretchy polyester bikinis and frees my cock. 

He looks a bit dazed, but that's okay. Now I pull him closer to me and I put one hand on each of his buttocks, and grind our pelvises together. 

He's quick to grab my ass and jam his cock alongside mine. 

We thrust and grind that way for a few minutes, dragging it out with another long, hot kiss. 

"Okay," I whisper, and pull back. He lets me go, watching me, but all I do is bend over and slide his pants and briefs down to his shins. Then I stand up straight again. 

He steps out of 'em, that beautiful hard cock swinging with each move. 

Then he takes a step to me, pause, another step. And he leans over and pulls my jeans and bikinis down to my ankles. I kick 'em off as he straightens up. 

So now we're naked. And his cock is dripping and so is mine. 

"You know--" he starts, and then stops. 

"What?" 

"Nothin'." 

"Somethin' wrong?" I ask him carefully, though he doesn't look like he wants to stop. 

"No, it's just... you look a lot like someone I know." 

"Do I?" 

He hesitates. "Yeah." 

I step forward and grab his cock with a tightening fist. He groans. "Do you do this with him?" I whisper. 

"No..." His eyes are closed, he's in my power. 

"But you want to?" I push. 

"Yeah..." he almost whimpers. 

"What do you want to do with him?" I ask him. I don't know why -- I should be offended by this, but for some reason it's turning me on. 

He hesitates. Then he opens his eyes and looks at me. 

"Everything," he says simply, and grabs my cock and starts jerking me off. 

"Okay, then," I say, for lack of anything better to say... and I grab his cock and now we're jerking each other. 

But it's too much; I can't take it, I gotta have his cock. So I pull him to me gently by his cock, and then push him towards the bed until he's right up against it. I let go his cock and push his chest just slightly. 

He sits down. 

I push his shoulders down and drag his legs up onto the bed. 

Now I'm all over him, on top of him, grinding our cocks together, devouring his mouth. He tastes like M&Ms and beer \-- weird combination. But that's okay, because I won't be tasting his mouth for that long... 

I slide down the length of his body, trailing my mouth down his throat, his chest, a little nibble on each nipple, scrape his navel with my teeth (he jumps entertainingly at that). 

And then there it is. Paydirt. That cock. 

I don't wanna get greedy, though, so I just stroke and stroke and stroke him... and fondle his balls. I roll 'em around in there, not hard, but good. 

He's moaning almost continuously now. 

I get up on my knees and put one knee between his. He spread his legs immediately. 

Good boy. I knew you wanted it like this. 

I'm still watching his throat work, his Adam's apple is moving. His wheat blond hair is no doubt being flattened by the way he's got his head thrown back... 

But that's okay, because his hair will probably be curly when I'm done with him. 

"Detective..." I whisper, as I move my other knee between his calves. 

"Wha..." 

"Pay attention... so you know what to do." 

He lifts his head, kinda dazed, and with that I just dive down and swallow the whole thing like a sword. 

"Ahhhhh!" He practically screams. 

Now I'm workin', it though, and he is freakin'. His legs are bent, his knees are quivering, his toes are curling, and he's gonna come any second. 

"Dave, Dave--" 

"Mmmm-hmmmm," is the only thing I can get out of my mouth around the cock in it, as I'm slurping up and down on it, hard and fast, the way _I_ like it. He's probably not paying too close attention now, but he'll get the gist of it. 

I just grab his balls and stroke 'em, they're up so tight now \-- stroke 'em once, twice, three times -- 

And that's it, he's coming, hard, in the back of my throat. He's got ahold of the blanket on the bed like Sylvester the cat on the ceiling in one of those Looney Tunes cartoons. 

Every spasm is in my mouth until there aren't any more. He's breathing noisily now, not moaning anymore. 

Finally, I slide my mouth gently off his cock and he whimpers, truly whimpers. Almost like a puppy that just got taken off the mama dog's teat. Heh. That's me, that's my thing. I can suck cock, but good. 

But the night's not over, no, no, no. Far from over. 

"Detective..." I whisper. "You don't have to be anywhere tonight, do ya?" 

"No..." he whispers, back in the land of the living, and looks at me. 

"Good..." I climb off him and throw myself down next to him. 

"Man," he says. I can see the wheels turning and I can see him deciding _not_ to say the next thing he's gonna say. Probably was gonna say, "My wife never..." No, she sure didn't. Not like another man can. Not like I can. 

He reaches across the short space between us and strokes my chest. Strokes my chest down to just under my rib cage. Strokes it again, down to my navel. Strokes it again... 

Down to my pubic hair. 

I'm just gonna lay here and let him go at his own pace. The main thing was to get him off so he wouldn't come in my ass too soon. He'll get hard again... probably by the third stroke of my cock in his mouth when he realizes that he loves sucking cock. 

But for now, he's just stroking my chest down to my stomach, I'm breathing a little hard... and then he rolls on his side and grabs my cock. Starts stroking me. 

Okay, stroking is good, this is good. 

I put my hands behind my head, just letting him call the shots. 

He slides over closer to me, and pauses in his stroking to kiss me. Not the heavy, hard kisses from before, but this one's kinda shy and tentative. I return it, the same way. 

Now he's kissing down my neck, my chest. My nipples. He slowly sucks one between his lips, and then he just holds it, not biting it, just holds it with his teeth for a sec. 

It's driving me nuts. 

He holds himself up a bit from the bed and goes for the other nipple. Does the same thing. 

Still stroking me... maddeningly slowly. 

I know I won't come from him blowing me... not his first real blowjob. But maybe... if he comes back here again... and again... 

His kisses have begun to move again, down my chest, past my sternum, to my navel. Tries to do the toothscrape tickle like I did. Doesn't quite make it, but he gets points for trying. 

And then I feel his breath warm on my cock and it's now or never and it's now-- 

His mouth, it's smaller than I thought, or maybe I'm bigger than I thought, but I don't think so... 

But it fits so perfectly into his mouth, the back of his mouth... 

He's sucking up and down on it now, with a pretty good suction going and his hand helping out. 

Pleasant surprise. Maybe he _has_ done this before... 

Either way, I can feel my balls pulling up a bit. I put my hand on his cheek, not the top of his head, so he won't think I'm gonna choke 'im with the tubesnake. 

He looks up at me, slowing his sucking. 

"I wanna come with you in my ass," I tell him slowly. 

He pauses, comes up for air. 

"Okay... right now?" 

"Yeah, right now," I tell him. Now I'm getting impatient. Just a little. 

"Okay..." he sits up the rest of the way. Of course, he's hard and dripping again already. I knew it. 

I roll over to the edge of the bed and open the drawer in the other night stand, the one his holsters and guns and cuffs are not on. I've got a tube of K-Y in there... just in case... I grab it, roll back over, and hand it to him. I get up from the bed. He's still sitting there in the middle of it. Impossible that he could look even more fuckable, but he does, sitting there in the middle of the bed, his cock pointing up, his hair mussed... 

"Number one: I've done this a zillion times, so you ain't gonna hurt me. Number two: you might wanna go slow for _your_ own good. But you don't have to." 

"Number three?" 

"There is no number three... unless you wanna jack me off while you're in me." 

His eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything. I walk around the bed, raging hard-on bouncing, and stop on his side of the bed. 

"It's easier if we're standing." 

Sweet, inexperienced thing that he is, he immediately slides off the bed and stands up. 

"Good. This is great," I say, before I can stop myself. "Detective--" 

"Ray--" 

"Ray..." I'm babbling now. I wonder if he can tell. I wonder if he'll ever come back here. I hope he will. "R-Ray," I stammer, and then get ahold of myself. "This is... this is... hey, anytime you wanna come over, again, any time, you just let me know, 'kay?" I ask him, hoping I don't sound too love struck, even though I kinda am. 

He breaks into that killer smile again, and ducks his head. 

"Okay..." he says. 

"Okay," I say. We're agreed. Good. Now back to the business at hand... 

I grab his hand, pull him up close, and then turn around and plant my hands on either edge of the night stand. 

"Do it," I order him. 

I hear him snap off the flip-top lid to the tube. 

"Put some on you, some on me," I tell him. 

I hear him squeezing it onto his cock. And then I feel two fingers at my asshole, rubbing cool gel on it. 

"Stick 'em in me," I whisper. "Get me ready." 

He obeys, a bit hesitant at first, but then like he's getting into it. God but my cock is throbbing like mad. 

"One more," I tell him. Oh, yeah. He sticks the third finger in me and it's sheer heaven. He's even getting creative, swirlin' them around... oh, yeah, you can come over and play any time... you've got a real natural aptitude, Detective Ray... 

"Whenever you're ready," I whisper. The fingers withdraw, which is faintly disappointing. But then I feel one hand on my left hip and the head of his cock pressing against my hole. 

Oh yeah. Ride it on in. 

He's slicked up, I'm slicked up, but he's not getting the angle right to get it in. Okay, okay, he is taller than me. I might have to go up on tiptoe... 

"Spread your feet out a bit, so you're not coming in so high," I whisper. He complies. 

There we go. Now he's got a good grip on my left hip and he pushes and I stand my ground. And there it is -- the head's inside. 

He's breathing hard now. 

He thrusts again. Another inch. I know I'm not that tight -- done this too many times to be that virginal -- but either I haven't done it in too long, or he's bigger than I thought. Either way, I'm gonna get filled but good. 

He thrusts again, but this time he's got the rhythm with me, and this time he gets that my body's not moving so his can _continue_ moving, and he pushes against my body's resistance and slides the whole damn thing in, smooth as silk. Right down at the bottom, when he gets in the last part of the thrust, then I can feel how big he is at the base of his cock. And it's so perfect, fills my ass so good -- 

"Again," I whisper. 

And now he's getting inspired. None of this first time short thrust stuff. Maybe he _did_ convince his wife -- ex-wife -- to do this more than a couple times. 

Cuz he pulls it almost entirely out, except just the head, and then he thrusts it in again, in one smooth movement, all the way to the hilt. 

I can't hold in the moan. 

"Good?" he whispers. 

"Fucking great," I whisper. 

He pulls out again, almost all the way. If he's gonna long-dick me this way... I dunno what I'm gonna do. 

Fuck it, I'll just go with it. I put all my leaning into my left hand on the night stand... and start stroking myself. 

"Hey," he says, like he just noticed the mirror over the dresser on the other side of the room. 

I look over, and man, I don't mean to brag, but we look like the best fucking porno you've ever seen. Me and my dark hair, and I'm a little built; him with his light hair, and he's lean and cat-like, and I've got my hand on myself, and he's got both hands on my hips and is fucking my ass so good, with long, strong in-out thrusts. The light is perfect -- not too much, but enough to see exactly what we're doing. 

This vision seems to inspire him more because he picks up the pace. And I look down at my cock in my fist, and do the same with my stroking. 

I can feel every inch of him going in, pulling out. But then he's shortening his strokes. I'm moaning and I don't even know it. Whispering and I don't even know what. 

"Ray, Ray--" 

"Mmmph, mmmph," he says, in time with his thrusts. I look over at the mirror and our eyes meet in it. His lips are pursed in a thin line, a sweat has broken out on his brow, and he whispers to me. "Stroke yourself harder," he whispers. "Faster." 

And I do. And he fucks me harder and faster and we've got the rhythm perfect and the balance of my body resisting his thrusts and his body pushing them, and then my body pulling away and his body pulling away-- 

And I'm pumping my cock and he's ramming my ass-- 

And I don't think I can take much more, and I look down at my own cock, to watch myself come-- 

And then the crest of the wave crashes through me, and my ass tightens of its own volition, and I'm coming all over his fucking shoulder holster, and gun, and ankle holster, and little gun, and handcuffs-- 

And a guttural moan bursts from him and he's coming inside me, his thrusts becoming shorter, jerkier, slower. 

I bend over more and rest my elbows on either side of his stuff on the night stand. My knees can't support my weight right now... too shivery. I've made a mess of his equipment. He's gonna fucking kill me, but I don't care. 

He bends over with me, not putting his weight on me, but leaning over and hugging my back to his chest by pulling backward on my stomach. 

"Oh, man...." he sighs gustily. 

"Yer not kidding..." I mutter. 

"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man," he whispers. I can feel his heartbeat shaking his body as it rests against mine. He's breathing hard still. 

He softens and I can feel his cock slowly start to slip out. 

"Uh, Ray," I say to him. 

"Yeah," he says, and pulls completely out of me and sits -- more like falls -- back on the bed. He's upright for maybe half a second, and then he just flops backward and goes, "Oh, man!" one more time before closing his eyes. 

"Ray." 

"Wha..." 

"I'm, uh, I made a mess, kinda, on your... your..." 

"My wha...." 

"Your holster. Holsters. Both guns. The handcuffs." 

I'm still bent over the damn night stand. I straighten up, though I just wanna collapse on the bed, and back away from the night stand. 

He lifts his head like he's a sick, dying consumptive or somethin', looks at the night stand, looks at me, shrugs. 

"It was worth it," he says, smiling and laying his head back down and closing his eyes. His chest still rising and falling rapidly. 

I pick up my shirt from the floor and pick up the small gun. I wipe it off with the shirt. When I put it down and pick up the big gun to wipe it off, he hears the clink of metal on metal, and sits up. 

"Hey," he says, looking a little alarmed. He stands up and takes the gun from me. "This is a fucking automatic weapon. Be careful with it." 

"Hey, I just wanted to get it off before it dried," I explain, wondering if he'll actually get pissed when he sees it. 

He looks over everything. 

"Man, you came a _lot_ ," he says, sounding kinda surprised. 

I would never have thought I could still blush in my life, but I did. 

"Not usually," I say quietly. 

"Well... here." He picks up his own T-shirt from the floor. "I'll clean it all up." 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah." 

"Good," I say, and sit down and flop down on my back on the bed. 

He laughs. 

He is just so fucking gorgeous and fuckable even right after we've fucked. 

~~~ 

And so that was how it was, that first time. And now it's either every Monday and Thursday night, or every Tuesday night and Saturday afternoon that he comes over. 

It's Saturday afternoon. 

The doorbell just rang. 

I don't bother with the intercom anymore. I know it's him. I know he's coming ahead of time, 'a course, but I just know when it's him and not the Jehovah's Witnesses or local street kids playing ding-dong-ditch. 

I open the front door. It's full winter, now. He's got his long brown wool coat on. He's kinda chameleon-like. He can look like the biggest slob sometimes... 

And then other times he just looks cool as hell. 

The coat comes off as I shut the door. It gets thrown on the couch. If it were snowing out and it was wet, I'd bitch at him... but it's been pretty nice, if cool. 

My shirt's being untucked. My pants are being undone. And pushed down. 

Again. 

He doesn't mess around. Gets right down to business. Okay, okay, fine, I'm bending over the end of the couch. 

I hear him fumble with his buckle, unzip his pants. 

He spits into his hand, once, twice. Slicks up his cock. 

And then he's in me. And there's nothing else in the world but Detective Ray's cock in Dave's ass, exactly the way things are supposed to be.  
   
   
   
   
   
  

End.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  

**Author's Note:**

> This story's inspiration (aside from Te's challenge!)--It is based on a real story (of the third floor neighbor of a friend of mine who lived in Uptown years ago; the neighbor had a Chicago cop on the side who would come over in uniform after he got off work, and impale the neighbor's ass on his cock). But this has been entirely fictionalized... to make Ray Kowalski that cop. Okay, so he's not a beat cop, and he's not in uniform... well, he's still got the other law enforcement accoutrements.


End file.
